


A Sorrow That Never Was Said

by laschatzi



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Family Bonding, Family Fluff, Snook, mama Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-17 04:02:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21047975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laschatzi/pseuds/laschatzi
Summary: Snow discovers something about Killian's childhood and uses the occasion to assure him of his place in their family.





	A Sorrow That Never Was Said

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ineffablecolors](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineffablecolors/gifts).

“It's so peaceful,” Emma sighs as she lets her gaze sweep across the fall-colored front yard of her parents' small farmhouse before she admits, “although sometimes I miss the loft.”

“We had good times there,” her mother agrees, “but it was time for something new, something a bit more spacious.”

“Mhm,” she hums in agreement and snuggles deeper into Killian's side and into the cushions of the porch swing, wrapping her fingers around the warm cocoa mug. “You've moved here only a few weeks ago, I'll get used to it.”

“Wait, love.” He wriggles himself free, smiling at her whined protest in fond amusement. “Surely your mother has a blanket somewhere. You're shivering, and for once not because of my proximity.”

Emma and her father both roll their eyes, while Snow – quite predictably – hides a grin and motions vaguely towards the house.

“On the couch,” she directs him, and he gets up from the swing, stretches his long legs and saunters inside, a tail-wagging Wilby following on his heels.

“Don't you miss sheriffing a bit, Dad?” Emma asks, and David chuckles.

“Contrary to popular belief, farm work is _not_ boring,” he tells her. “Besides, if I feel the need to break up a bar brawl at the _Rabbit Hole_, I can always come in and give you and my _son-in-law_ a day off.” He crinkles his nose in feigned annoyance when he emphasizes Killian's title, as he likes to do. His best friend conked him in the head once with a crowbar, flirted with his wife, and saved his life, he can take a little mockery. It's their thing.

“He misses it,” Snow declares dryly, much to Emma's amusement. Then a child's muffled sob comes from inside, and she sighs. “Bit early for feeding time,” she murmurs in gentle complaint and waves Emma off when she makes a move to get up as well, undoubtedly to offer her help with baby duty. “I'll just bundle him up and bring him and his bottle outside.”

When she crosses the hall, meeting Wilby on his way out, she throws a glance into the living room to see if Killian has found the blanket he went in looking for, but the room is empty, and the blanket is gone; she assumes he probably just went to use the bathroom. She heads for the nursery and notices only now that Neal has stopped crying and is just whimpering a bit. Halting on the spot, she contemplates for a moment if she should just quietly retreat or take him with her, because feeding time will inevitably come anyway. That's when she hears something strange from the nursery, sounds that definitely don't come from her infant son.

It's Killian's voice, low, husky, and so _gentle_, and at first she can't identify the sounds, because it's so unexpected, but then she realizes – he's actually _singing_. It's an enchanting melody she's never heard before, and his words are much more accented than usual. It has an undeniably calming effect. Mesmerized, she stands completely still, hoping that no unexpectedly creaking floorboard will betray her, and listens to the melancholy tune.

_She stepped away from me_  
_And she moved through the fair_  
_And fondly I watched her_  
_Move here and move there_  
_And she went her way homeward  
_ _With one star awake_

Apparently, the baby is as mesmerized as she is, because his whimpering has softened into mere sniffling, and then he falls completely silent as Killian's voice becomes softer still and fades away with the last tunes.

_As the swans in the evening  
_ _Move over the lake _

A few soothing words are murmured, unintelligible to her, before the door of the nursery is slowly pulled open, and Killan walks quietly out of the room, backwards, carefully setting his steps. When he turns around and finds himself face to face with Snow, he stops in a startled move. She notices he's carrying the blanket for Emma in the crook of his left elbow. He's apparently unsure of her reaction and motions over the shoulder with his hand.

“I... uhm, I heard the wee one wail and went looking after him,” he explains a little hastily, as if he feels the need to defend himself. That's completely unnecessary, of course; she has observed a few times that he has actually a great instinct with children.

“Thank you.” Snow smiles. “That was beautiful. Did you learn it from your mother?”

He draws a deep breath, obviously surprised and a little uncomfortable that he has been overheard. “Aye,” he finally replies. “She used to sing it to me when I was a lad.”

“Can you teach me a few more?” she asks eagerly, partly because she wants to reassure him – sometimes it seems that despite all they've been through, he's still a bit insecure about his place in the family – , and partly because she _really_ would like to learn more lullabys that are different from the ones she remembers... ancient and somehow... _magical_, for the lack of a better word.

Killian shakes his head slightly and slowly, in an absentminded way, as if he's trying – and failing – to dig up more memories. For a few moments, though, he's far away, she can see it.

“I'm sorry, that's the only one I remember,” he finally says and then, swiftly changing his demeanor, adds in a light voice, “I could provide you with a few sea shanties, but I'm afraid,” he raises his eyebrows mockingly, “Dave would not be amused.”

Snow scrutinizes him closely, and he almost passes the examination. _Almost_. The familiar smirk playing around his lips doesn't reach his eyes; those are hazed by a profound melancholy. Quite some time ago, she has understood that Killian's sass and pirate swagger are often just a mask to hide what he's afraid of showing; that used to be his inherent goodness during a time no one was willing to give him credit for anything, and nowadays sometimes it's insecurity born from that self-loathe he's carried around for centuries, or simply plain old pain. The reason is _just_ as plain and simple: just like with Emma when she was alone, no one ever cared or even bothered to ask, because they were both lost to the world, both never mattered to anyone.

But they matter now, and she sees it as her and David's job to show them, again and again, that they do. Emma is their daughter and own flesh and blood, but Killian is the man she loves, and a vital part of their family – and _they_, in return, are the only family _he_ has. So, she's definitely not letting him get away with this, and he seems to sense it, because he raises his hand and rubs that spot behind his ear.

“You lost her early,” she finally says softly, and there's no question mark at the end.

He drops the act and his head, a now genuine, sad little smile briefly brushing his features.

“She caught a fever,” he then recounts. “Tried to stay with us as long as she could. Alas..." He lets his voice trail off and tilts his head. Snow looks down at his hand, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing over the smooth fabric of the blanket he's carrying the crook of his left elbow.

“How old were you?” she inquires gently.

“Six, I think.”

Her heart clenches when she thinks of a little boy whose childhood ended so soon and so terribly – Emma has told them the whole story about his father and what he did to Killian and his brother, although he himself never mentions any of it. She knows, he doesn't want to come off as making up excuses for the dark path he has chosen to walk on for a long while of his life, and he surely doesn't want pity.

“What was her name?” she asks to steer the conversation in a lighter direction.

Almost automatically, his mouth curves up in a fond, albeit melancholy smile. “Alice.” He says it almost reverently.

“Alice,” she repeats, “that's beautiful.” She cocks her head and gives him a conspiratorial glance. “It should be passed on.”

That remark apparently pleases him, because he averts his eyes for a moment and smiles bashfully. “Thank you,” he replies in a husky voice.

Snow raises her chin and studies his face. “What did she look like?” she wants to know.

He thinks about his next words for a few moments. “Her eyes were of a deep blue, and she had ginger hair,” he says slowly, thoughtfully – but not as if he has to struggle to properly remember, but more as if he's reveling in the memory. “She was really beautiful.”

She nods, her lips playfully pursed. “Ah, now _that_ explains a lot.”

Killian fixes his gaze on her, raising his eyebrows knowingly. “I'm aware of what you're doing here.”

“You are? And what would that be?”

He sways his head. “You're trying to appeal to my infame vanity, so I forget to be sad.”

Snow chuckles, not embarrassed in the slightest that she's been busted. “Well, did it work?”

He draws a deep, pensive breath. “Thinking of her doesn't make me sad, actually,” he explains and, after a short pause, adds, “I've learned some time ago that it's better to let go of all the past anger, hurt, and pain, otherwise it will consume you, as it did me for three hundred years.” He looks down at the soft plaid of the blanket he's still caressing absentmindedly. “It's better to hold on only to the good things worth remembering.”

“True.”

Snow remembers all too well being in that dark place herself again and again, during her long, lonely hours of being on the run, orphaned, outlawed, stripped of everything, and living with the death threat by an evil sorceress, when she was barely more than a child. Being surrounded by her surrogate family, the dwarves, and friends like Red, and of course her True Love, helped her stay on her path more than once, or else... who knows if she would have succumbed to the darkness and strived only for revenge on Regina and her mother. Killian, on the other hand, was alone for centuries, with no one to show him a way out of the abyss.

She puts a hand on his shoulder. “Look, Killian, I know that what once was lost can never be replaced,” she begins, and despite his head still being tipped down a bit, his eyes meet hers again, watching her closely. “But now,” she continues, “we built something to make sure that we never have to be alone again, none of us – a _home_.” He doesn't say anything, but that telltale muscle in his jaw ticks, and she knows she's getting to him. “I want you to know,” she adds firmly, “that we succeeded with that also because of you, and that you're a very important part of this family.”

The corners of his mouth finally lift in a soft, bashful smile, _accepting_, and his voice is a bit rough when he replies, “Thank you, Milady.”

She scoffs fondly. “You're still going to call me that on my deathbed, right?”

Killian tilts his head in gentle mockery. “You know I will.”

She presses her lips into a smile and loops her arm through his, pulling him away from the nursery door where they're still standing. “Come on, feeding time can wait a little longer.”

When they come out, David looks up from the dog whose head he's been scratching and frowns questioningly. “Where's Neal?” Wilby whines a bit in protest when his favorite human's moves slow down.

Snow shrugs and waves her husband off. “False alarm.”

Killian settles back down on the porch swing next to Emma, and immediately she curls against him and hums in contentment when he drapes the blanket over her shoulders.

“Better?” he murmurs and presses a kiss on the crown of her head, smiling to himself as she buries her cold nose against the crook of his neck.

“Perfect,” she sighs.

Snow's mouth curves into a serene smile as she watches her family.


End file.
